


Uchiha Do It Better

by Kalira



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Nude Modeling, Pinups, Possessive Behavior, Stress, Teasing, Uchiha Do It Better, silly premise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: None of the Uchiha - including Madara - is quite sure how Madara agreed to this Uchiha pin-up calendar idea, or indeed how to get him - and everyone else - through this modelling session. Tobirama might have a few ideas on that last point, at least.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 29
Kudos: 234





	Uchiha Do It Better

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an entry and part of the fun over on [Uchiha Pin-Up Fun](https://uchiha-pinup-fun.tumblr.com/post/634192061774577664/the-uchiha-do-it-better-raffle)!

“I _fucking refuse_!” Madara snapped, and Hikaku suspected Kirito was half a breath from getting laid out by their clan head.

Hikaku suspected he might have already crossed that line, were it not for the fact that Madara did have _some_ modesty, and he very much didn’t want to abandon what little cover he currently had for himself only to stomp Kirito flat. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know how Izuna had gotten Madara to agree to this - to the project at all, but _particularly_ to agree to be in the damn calendar himself.

. . .of course, Hikaku wasn’t quite sure how Izuna had gotten _him_ to agree, either.

Hikaku was going to be March. He cringed at the thought, wishing he could stay behind the camera. It wasn’t the most fun task exactly, but it was . . . it felt far more secure to be back here. Hikaku wasn’t _shy_ but he didn’t want to show off _everything_ either, and Izuna was far too happily working at just that, it seemed.

Their Hokage thought the fundraising calendar was a fantastic idea and Hikaku wondered if he was going to try to get the Senju to do it next year - or order them to. He suspected that might run afoul of a slightly trickier problem than Izuna wheedling Madara had been, in that-

“That is not going to work.” Tobirama said, and Hikaku nearly jumped, his heart racing. Fuck. He no longer twitched into battle readiness at the first sight or sound of the man and he _knew_ Tobirama could appear out of nowhere but it still got to him. He had no idea how Madara handled it, unless he was just that good that he could always sense Tobirama coming.

Izuna whirled on his old rival - they still fought like ninneko and Inuzuka hounds, but at least it rarely felt like death was looming when they did, these days - with a furious sound. Hikaku resolved, one day, when Izuna was _really_ getting on his nerves, to tell him he sounded like a newly-boiling tea kettle.

Or possibly like one of his noodle cats after being dropped _into_ a boiling tea kettle, though Hikaku wouldn’t say that.

Izuna expounded on why his idea was _brilliant_ , and would easily and without much outlay make up for some of Konoha’s deficit - building a village was _expensive_ , and they had quite the cadre of skilled ninja but there was a _lot_ of work inside the village to be done, their own security and uncertain relations between the clans, as well as the at times arduous process of courting trust and commissions from potential clients. Hikaku shook his head slightly, cringing.

He wasn’t sure if it was going to work or not, and wasn’t sure how he felt about it either way - he might have been more enthused if _he_ was not expected to be in it. It was definitely a . . . radical idea. Ridiculous. Izuna all over, Hikaku thought wryly, looking through the camera at where Kirito was still poking - _physically poking_ , how was the man still _alive_ if this was his usual level of self-preservation - at Madara. Their clan head was laid out over a low-slung lounge, his hair tangled and bunched up around one shoulder, one leg bent up to semi-shield himself from view, his body tense and every fibre clearly displaying his discomfort.

Izuna, of course, was _delighted_ with the calendar, himself being in it and all. He had claimed February for himself, though he’d pouted a little about it being the shortest month.

Tobirama was walking away from Izuna now, Hikaku thought without looking up; Izuna was getting louder in a way that said he was _projecting_ his voice.

“Stop spreading him out like a decoration and pose him like the focus.” Tobirama said, and Hikaku frowned thoughtfully; Madara was clearly uncomfortable as he was, which was understandable, he was both almost entirely exposed _and_ in a deeply vulnerable position. Being a more active focus might be better or it might be worse. “Also, he should have an uchiwa.”

Hikaku had thought that too; actually when he had first been told Madara was going to be December - not only for his own birthday, but placing him for the final month as the Uchiha clan head, Izuna had said, puffed up - he had imagined Madara in a few pieces of his battle armour, maybe half his body bared, and with the gunbai uchiwa in hand.

Hikaku shivered a little. Madara was a very attractive man, particularly as a ninja.

“The gunbai is too big.” Hikaku sighed, adjusting the camera. Madara, scowling at Kirito, looked just as stiff and deeply uncomfortable as he had all afternoon.

“Exactly! He’ll just _hide behind it_ if we let him have it! Honestly, Aniki!” Izuna’s haranguing was . . . probably not helping either, Hikaku thought, a little irritated with his friend. If _anyone_ else had managed to get Madara into this position, Hikaku thought they would probably be charcoal by now, but of course Izuna had a good deal more free rein with his brother. “Show yourself off! You’re a good-looking Uchiha! I won’t let you hide behind the gunbai - or hide at all, you’re _supposed_ to be making a show of yourself!”

“I said uchiwa, not gunbai uchiwa, I am not an idiot.” Tobirama said dryly, and Hikaku straightened, turning towards him, then froze.

Tobirama was twirling a real, proper uchiwa in their clan’s colours in his hand, and he grinned, sharp and sly, as he prowled towards where Madara was - if Hikaku was any guess about his clan head - about to start actually shouting at Kirito, if not committing violence upon his person.

“Madara.” Tobirama said, sliding past Kirito easily and commanding Madara’s attention merely by virtue of _being there_.

Hikaku sighed a little wistfully. He didn’t want _Tobirama_ , no - he liked the man but he was, aside from being _unmistakably_ claimed, a little too . . . a little too much of _many_ things, for Hikaku - but what Tobirama was for Madara?

. . . _that_ he couldn’t help but long for.

Hikaku fiddled with the camera, watching as Tobirama brushed the fingers of his free hand over Madara’s hair, then encouraged him to rise the rest of the way. Kirito was bristling, but Hikaku didn’t even wish the idiot _luck_ if he tried challenging Madara in this mood _and_ Tobirama with a plan in mind.

Hikaku remained behind his camera, poised and waiting and _out of the way_ \- and any possible line of fire. Hopefully.

. . .and hoping Tobirama had some brilliant thought that would make this less miserable for Madara.

They might be able to make it _work_ otherwise, but aside from how rough it would be finding a usable photograph among these thus far, Hikaku hated to see Madara so unhappy and uncomfortable, and it had soured him on the whole project.

* * *

Madara glared at Kirito, who took a step back, eyes widening. _Finally._ And he’d had his _hands_ over far too much of Madara, trying to get him into a good ‘alluring’ pose. Madara huffed, lip curling. He knew how to be _alluring_ , just-

Fuck, not like this. It was awful and he hated it and he wouldn’t even have wanted to laugh at the others if he weren’t involved in it himself, but being in the middle of this?

Madara shuddered, shifting his weight and cringing. He didn’t like being so on display - not . . . well, not like _this_ , and the idea of it being available to _anyone who paid_ was making him want to set his brother on fire - and his hair was _not_ enough coverage to make him feel any better.

There was a flash of sympathy in Tobirama’s eyes as he met Madara’s gaze, and Madara ducked his head, shoulders tense. He’d _agreed_ , damn it, and Izuna _was_ right in that he couldn’t pull out, not and let this remain a viable project with his clanmates - even if this was clearly not working, after all fucking afternoon burnt trying to get even _one_ usable shot.

Izuna’s crowing that he was an attractive man and that the Uchiha were the best choice for this - _Uchiha Do It Better, Aniki_ , Madara was going to _wring his neck_ \- was neither inspiring nor comforting.

Tobirama’s hand brushed back a wild lock of his hair again, and Madara lifted his eyes.

“Madara. . .” Tobirama all but purred into his ear, and Madara growled, still bristling, if not so much at _Tobirama_ as because today had been. . . “If _you_ ,” Tobirama paused, humming softly, and Madara cut his eyes towards his lover, “ _wear_ just an uchiwa, here, for this, as promised,” Madara snarled - he was _not_ going to break his word, Tobirama _knew that_ \- and Tobirama stroked a hand up his arm, trailing very slowly over his bicep, “then _I_ will wear _just an uchiwa_ , tonight, just for you.”

Madara twitched, breath going ragged at the mental image, his eyes wide. He twisted to look at Tobirama properly and met vivid eyes rich with promise. “Tobira.” he said roughly.

Tobirama smiled slightly, flicking the uchiwa in his hand, bringing it up almost as high as the crimson streaks on his face, peering over it, then offering it to Madara.

_Fuck._

Madara took it. Tobirama leaned in, nuzzling and then kissing his cheek, fingers running through his hair, and even _here_ , stressed and tense and unhappy, several clanmates watching him, his _brother_ no doubt still ready to shout at him, he began to relax.

“You’ve got the wrong kind of pose.” Tobirama said, and Madara bared his teeth, ready to snap at _him_ , too, before he realised Tobirama wasn’t talking to him. “Madara? Laid out like that?” He snorted disdainfully, and Madara- Madara fucking _loved_ this man.

“What would _you_ suggest, then?” Kirito snapped, and Madara grinned fiercely as Tobirama simply turned to him with a cold, unimpressed look. Kirito swallowed visibly, taking half a step back.

Hikaku raised a hand. “As long as Madara-sama is agreeable, I am happy to allow you to restructure the entire shoot.” he said, and _his_ gaze was even more sympathetic.

“Anything.” Madara agreed openly, immediately, as he would have for _no one_ else.

Tobirama might fuck with him, but not on this. If there was _anything_ to be done to make this entire situation less dreadful, Madara trusted Tobirama would be the one to find it.

Tobirama stroked his fingers wrapped around the handle of the uchiwa, and Madara’s breath caught. Tobirama’s smile grew a little and Madara swallowed tightly; his lover’s callused fingertips were tracing in feathery caresses over the tenderest spots of his hands and his inner wrist.

He felt a flash of warmth and gave Tobirama a pointed stare. Fuck, Madara did _not_ want to get hard _here_ , this was already _more than bad enough_. Tobirama laughed softly, stroking up his forearm, but squeezed gently. He wasn’t trying to embarrass Madara, or to work him up, Madara thought, relieved, just as a wave of cool, controlled chakra flowed over him.

Madara shivered again, tingles running down his spine, and Tobirama repeated the soft flare of chakra, bracing one foot on the piece of furniture Madara now had an entirely petty loathing for and shoving it further back. He moved around Madara, gently moving him - a stroke over his hip, a brush of toes against his ankle, hands on his sides and his arms and his shoulders, and Madara let Tobirama direct his body without protest or resistance.

Tobirama hummed softly, chakra washing over Madara in gentle waves that felt like they were easing away tension and fury with every ripple.

It was an incredible trick - not just the control, which was easy enough for Madara, but the. . .

Madara wished faintly, frowning, that he could do the same for his lover. His chakra was . . . _not_ relaxing, though, he well knew. Tobirama’s could be a towering terror, all pressure and strength, but Madara was strong enough to meet it, and it was cool and careful. Pleasant.

“I like your fire, Mada.” Tobirama said softly, and Madara twitched, looking towards him. Tobirama smiled, arching a brow. “If I was afraid of a little searing heat. . .”

Madara laughed, and Tobirama caressed his cheek before moving to stroke his hair, smoothing it out and fluffing it up at once. Not that Madara’s hair really needed any encouragement to be fluffed out and wild, he thought wryly as Tobirama’s lips brushed his shoulder, just at the base of his neck.

“Are you going to take all day?” Izuna demanded, and Madara tensed.

Tobirama bit his shoulder - gentle, probably not enough to leave a mark; _good_ , Madara loved wearing Tobirama’s marks but he did _not_ want that, which was _theirs_ , to be in this stupid calendar, he thought.

“We’ve _already_ been trying all day, Izuna!” Hikaku snapped, turning to Izuna from behind the camera, and Madara smiled slightly. “Give them a little time and _maybe_ we’ll get something we can use, if you stop _badgering your brother_!”

Madara huffed, a little pleased, honestly.

“I do love the feel of your chakra, pet.” Tobirama said, just as Madara found himself beginning to purr from the feeling of his lover’s clever hands in his hair, stroking his neck. Bringing his hair around him and adjusting his arms a little.

Madara let his chakra rise as Tobirama’s ebbed away again, chasing after, and Tobirama shivered this time, his hands tightening on Madara’s ribs and wrist. Madara grinned.

Tobirama huffed, but he was smiling back as he stepped fully in front of Madara again.

“I know you hate this.” Tobirama said, and Madara sighed. “Your brother is an idiot.” he added, arching a brow, and Madara snorted, stifling a laugh. “That’s better.” Tobirama’s thumb brushed along his lower lip, and then Tobirama kissed him, making him growl softly as he returned it, even as he realised the kiss was hard enough his mouth would _definitely_ be swollen. Just a little.

“Remember,” Tobirama said as he drew back, voice barely more than a breath, “me laid out only for you, _only an uchiwa_ , whatever you wish, pet.”

Oh, Madara remembered.

Tobirama’s hands slid over his chest and arms, a last check, and then he moved away and left Madara alone before the camera again. Kirito had backed off, somewhere behind Hikaku and the camera now. Madara had never hated cameras before - they were relatively new, he had little experience with them one way or the other - but he was definitely beginning to after today.

This time, though, Madara wasn’t spread out like a casualty or a fainting civilian, but on his feet, turned just enough to show off the muscles of his legs - he could feel the faint strain of remaining motionless in this position, legs slightly bent, hips tilted, heels off the floor, already - his shoulders squared and his hair falling around them and his face.

The uchiwa was held low in front of him, shielding his cock, and it was the _only_ thing preserving any privacy about him, really. Madara scowled a little, and Tobirama moved, brushing a fingertip back and forth over his narrow mouth, eyes sweeping down Madara’s body and back up.

Madara felt himself drawing up in answer to that gaze before he’d consciously decided to move, taking a deep breath, and his lips twitched. He let them, a faint smile tugging at the corners, and looked back at Hikaku, relaxing the fingers of his free hand a little more.

He smiled, giving an approving gesture over the top of his camera, and continued snapping photos.

Madara kept watch on Tobirama without actually shifting his gaze, and Tobirama kept watching _him_. He let that ease him a little as he shifted poses, just a fraction, muscles flexing and chin lifting, his hair tickling over his back and all the way down to his thighs.

He didn’t twitch only because he was familiar with this sensation, even the skin-crawling, disruptive, itchy feeling that came when groups of two and three strands together clung and drifted over his skin in odd patterns.

Hikaku kept taking pictures, and Tobirama kept watching, and Madara tried to put the former out of his mind and not think too much about the latter - or. . .

 _Whatever you wish_ , Tobirama’s voice a murmur only just loud enough for him to hear; privacy in a room with a handful of his clanmates, _me, only an uchiwa, only for you_.

Madara tried not to think about _that_ too much either, because he was more than occupied enough trying to hide himself fully with the damn uchiwa as it was.

“It might be too big for this,” Tobirama said to Hikaku, who hummed acknowledgement and kept working, and given the trend of his thoughts Madara nearly choked, eyes widening, “but I would _love_ to see him like this with the gunbai uchiwa instead.”

“It would suit Madara-sama better.” Hikaku agreed, and Madara smiled slightly. “It was what I imagined, when Izuna told me about this,” he nodded towards Madara, then lifted his head, rising from behind the camera and raising his voice, “maybe another slightly different-”

Madara grumbled, but shifted, turning a little the other way, angling the uchiwa, tilting his head and letting his hair fall more along his left side.

“Thank you, Madara-sama.” Hikaku said, smiling as he ducked behind the camera again.

“What was what you imagined?” Tobirama asked, giving Madara an appreciative look.

“Madara-sama with the gunbai uchiwa, probably in some mockery of his armour or with only a few pieces of it left on,” Hikaku said, and Madara blinked, startled, “probably outside, not on a real battlefield but in honesty give Madara-sama ten minutes and it could look much like one.”

Tobirama’s expression told Madara he should consider taking his lover and the gunbai uchiwa out to one of the more private training fields sometime. He thought he wouldn’t exactly mind that himself, and pictured Tobirama wearing just his ridiculous fur and maybe a few pieces of his own armour, wet from his own suiton and flushed from the heat of Madara’s katon and his own desire, laid out across the grass. . .

Madara cleared his throat and dragged his mind back to practical matters like _how long he was going to have to stand here_ , because he very much did not want to get-

“I think that’s enough, surely.” Hikaku said and Madara stared at him, hopeful. It had been a _long fucking day_ , and this process with the fucking camera had dragged on for so long, that it might _finally_ be over seemed faintly unbelievable.

“I’m sure it is!” Izuna said, and Madara spared a moment to be thankful before he started moving. “We can always do it again if none of those turn out to be usable.” Izuna added cheerfully, and Madara stilled again, turning just his head to glare at his brother.

“I think that’s unlikely,” Tobirama paused minutely, “to be necessary. Don’t you?”

“Agreed.” Hikaku said with feeling, and Madara snorted. Unlikely indeed. _Not fucking happening._

Madara had rarely been so glad to slide into his own clothes, even after long missions requiring uncomfortable covers. He shuddered, pulling his hair up out of his collar, then froze as strong, careful hands took charge of it, surrendering to Tobirama’s care with a tiny almost-whine.

He kissed Madara’s throat, just below his ear, and then bit sharply, startling him - he caught back a cry - and this time he was _definitely_ leaving a mark. Madara grinned.

“Let’s go home.” Madara said, voice low.

Tobirama hummed, nuzzling his neck and up behind his ear, still playing with his hair, warm against his back. “Certainly. I’m sure you’re more than ready to get out of here.” he moved around Madara, toying with the uchiwa he’d abandoned. Madara’s eyes followed the flash of bright red and white in his lover’s hand, Tobirama’s promise high in his thoughts. “Ready enough to let me transport us?”

Madara’s eyes shot up to meet Tobirama’s. He smiled faintly, ruby eyes dark. “Yes.” Madara said simply.

Tobirama’s smile softened and he smoothed a hand over Madara’s arm and ribs. Then the world dissolved in a shivery wash of chakra; it made his stomach deeply unhappy for a few moments before it resolved again with them standing just inside their own door, well within the boundaries of the traps and fuinjutsu-based wards that blocked everything else out of their home.

Madara tugged his lover to himself and leaned into Tobirama’s lean strength, finding a familiar steadying peace there. Tobirama hummed, one arm winding around his waist simply to hold him, the other hand rising to begin stroking his hair, toying with it gently.

It had been a very unfamiliar kind of stress for Madara today and he did not like it.

 _It’s being admired_ , Izuna called it, preening. Fuck that. Madara was fine with being _admired_ but that wasn’t what he’d felt like, and he hated not being able to _move_ , and being laid out like some kind of-

“You’re tensing up again.” Tobirama said softly, with the shivery wash of his chakra sliding over Madara once more, this time heavier, not ebbing away so easily. Madara smiled. Tobirama had been courteous of the others around them, before - now he only had to think of Madara, and _he_ could drown himself in his lover’s chakra and love every moment, and Tobirama knew it. “Think about other things.” he suggested, kissing Madara’s cheek and giving a sharp tug to his hair, making him groan, shivery sparks rushing through his blood.

“Like you, wearing nothing but my uchiwa?” Madara asked archly, and Tobirama laughed even as he drew back, a faintly rosy tinge shading the pale skin between his crimson markings. “I love that thought but I have to tell you,” he said dryly, “I did not love it while I was in front of Hikaku and his fucking camera.”

Tobirama laughed louder, his head tipping back, and Madara took advantage of the vulnerable, open line of his exposed throat to press close, kissing and nipping just a little.

Tobirama softened in his arms, all that powerful muscle going lax because of _Madara_. It got him almost as hot as the imagined display of Tobirama and his uchiwa.

“Mine.” he growled softly, and Tobirama purred, arching against him. Madara grinned, lifting his head and nestling his cheek against Tobirama’s.

“And you’re mine.” Tobirama said with easy confidence, one hand coming up to the nape of his neck, kneading lightly. “No matter who gets to admire you or what your brother tries to put on display.”

Madara hummed contentedly, more than pleased with that.

**Omake:**

Madara swallowed thickly, almost frozen, eyes wide. He’d expected- He’d _imagined_ -

Tobirama, once more, managed to _more than_ outstrip every possible imagining one could put to him. It was something that Madara had frequent cause, as his lover, to both adore and despise.

Today. . .

Tobirama smiled at him, beckoning languidly; as he moved the shirt he wore, one of Madara’s own, a formal one with the uchiwa embroidered in tiny patterns along the open edge, slid over his skin. Set against the backdrop of the deep purple fabric, he nearly seemed like he could have been glowing.

Madara was no fool; he obeyed the summons immediately, crossing to the bed and sliding his hands over Tobirama’s long legs as he made his way up his lover’s body.

In his other hand Tobirama held what Madara suspected was the same bright uchiwa he had been posing with earlier himself. It matched him beautifully, all crimson lines and pale skin and snowy hair. The uchiwa was angled awkwardly over his cock to leave room for him, and Madara grinned as he caught Tobirama’s hand and wrist, moving it away.

Tobirama laughed softly and let him, and Madara sat back on his heels, just . . . admiring.

“You may _not_ have a picture,” Tobirama said lightly, and Madara cringed, “but Mada. . .” He reached up, trailing his fingers by one of Madara’s eyes, and he kept very still, watching Tobirama’s face, breath catching at the suggestion. “You may have _me_ , always . . . and yes.” he added after a long pause, smiling slightly.

Madara let his chakra surge, his Sharingan whirling into life just as Tobirama laughed again, hiding playfully behind the uchiwa and glancing at Madara around it before teasingly drawing it down his body.

Madara echoed his lover’s laugh, fire lighting in his blood, and pounced.


End file.
